


For me to take your word

by Kitfah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitfah/pseuds/Kitfah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Currently on hiatus) Follows the aftermath of the Stark/Tyrell  failed alliance post gold wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've chosen to use show cannon for this one. Follows the events of the show up until episode 7, but deviates after that. The story picks up shortly after Sansa's wedding to Tyrion.

She should have known it would end just like this.

Every minute spent in this city, from the moment she’d first set foot into the Red Keep, had served to drive into her the knowledge that whatever notion she previously had, whatever dreams she was raised to believe in, were simply not true. This life is not what was promised to her.

If something seems good, if it seems right and fair, it won’t be true or it won't last. All those songs she memorized as a child were less than shadows to her now. She had chased them blindly all her life, unaware that as untouchable as a shadow can be, so were her dreams. The truth however, proved itself to be crushingly real.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She looks around the room with sharp focus, committing all of its meaningless details to memory.

Over the past year she’d spent so much of her time inside her own head – working out how things could have gone so wrong – the routine of it was almost comforting to her by now.

It was pitch dark outside, already well after the night feast, yet the air in the room was humid and sticky. Her night gown clings to her and her skin itches as she breathes in the stale, hot air of Kings Landing. It’s seems like madness to her now, that she’d once thought she favored summer.

Shae was resting at the other end of the room; she had laid herself down on the bed a while ago, the way no handmaiden Sansa had ever known would dare do. At some other point in her life, Shae’s lack of manners would have bothered her more. Now they just made her think of Arya.

She takes off to sit by the large mirrored dresser and starts to run a silver brush through her hair. It was a beautiful piece, engraved with rubies. It had been gifted to her by the queen herself, early on in the days of her engagement to Joffrey. She’d treasured the thing when she’d first gotten it, now…not so much.

Her movements must have drawn Shae’s attention. The handmaiden turns towards her side and rubs the sleep off her eyes. “It very late. Why are you awake?” She mumbles mid yawn.

She glances back at her friend and just shrugs lightly, with little energy. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Shae looks at her unconvinced; this is how she knew they spent far too much time together, Shae always picked up on her lies too easily.

“Why not? What are you thinking about?” She stared at Sansa with sharp oblique eyes.

“I was thinking you were right.” Sansa kept her own eyes to the floor and smiled a tiny unhappy smile while she carefully brushed the same lock of hair over and over again.

The candles around the room burned silently as Shae waited for her to say more, but she never did. These days she felt less and less inclined to talking.

She watched in silence as Shae stood up and stepped forward to take over the task of brushing her hair, it hadn't been cut since she’d left Winterfell and now it had grown longer than she’d ever worn it before. Her mother would hate it.

“I usually am right.” Shae mused vaguely. “Did something happen today? Has Lord Tyrion done anything to you? You promised to tell me if he as much as tried.”

She glances up at her handmaiden, tearing her eyes away from the intricate patterns in the carpet. Shae had been especially protective of her ever since the wedding. Truthfully, Sansa found it a little strange, but it was nice to have someone openly care about her so she chose to keep her thoughts to herself. She smiles gently, trying to appease Shae - her only friend.

“He did nothing. I would have told you if he did, you know I would.” Sansa replied.

She could feel the worry coming out of Shae in waves, and from the bottom of her heart she clung to that worry. The precious evidence that at least one person in this castle cared for her still. “You told me once that no one is to be trusted. That it is the only safe way to live, that’s what I thought of.”

Sansa could see the barely disguised disappointment slowly starting to show in Shae’s face – She wondered at times like this, what went through her friend’s mind. Sometimes, she even tried to guess. Is it…  _Fourteen years old and her whole world is already collapsed upon her head..._ or perhaps just _…She’s only a child._

In the end, Shae’s reply was short and honest. “Yes, you’ll be safer that way.”

Sansa examined her reflection in the old, stained, glass of the mirror. Her face was a familiar blank mask, the way it so often seemed to look now, whenever she had those thoughts, the ones too unsafe to speak.

“I am trapped here in all the ways a person can be.” The words were hard to get out through her clenched teeth.

“Trapped in the castle, in Kings Landing, trapped with Tyrion, cut off from what’s left of my family.” Her hands twisted the fabric of her gown in agitation.

“Short as they were, the days I spent believing Highgarden could be my way out, mock me. I should have realized it sooner. The only way out is the one I make for myself.”

She closed her eyes as tight as she could, willing the pressure to dwindle that dull headache that often came whenever she tried to hold back her tears. “I feel like such a fool.” She whispered. Her voice, at last, succumbing to hopelessness.

“You are  _not_  a fool, Sansa. Open your eyes. Look at me.” Shae knelt down by the tall chair and pulled both of her hands in a tight grip that threatened to cut their circulation. The anger in her voice seemed to make her accent that much more prominent.

“You have kept yourself alive in this place; a stupid girl would be dead by now. You’ll find other opportunities to escape if you keep your eyes open and your head clear, but you can’t afford to be weak now. Do you understand me?”

The heavy oak door of her chamber shook with vigorous knocking then, and Sansa feels her stomach drop at the sound. It was late, too late for visitors or even for a courier to deliver a message.

Shae was up and pulling the door open before she could protest it, but she opened it only just, and from where she stood, Sansa could not make out who was at the door or what they talked about in such low conspiratory whispers.

She takes a few measured, silent steps towards the door and quickly picks up on Shae’s voice, trying with very little success, to sound polite while sputtering indignantly. “Yes, m’Lord. I know who you are, but surely you understand it is very late. You can’t come in, Lady Sansa is already asleep.”

“Then wake her up, or I swear on all the seven gods, my sister will have you scrubbing pots for the rest of your life. I have an important message to deliver, for Lady Sansa’s ears only.” Sansa recognizes the male voice immediately.

At any other point in her life, having Sir Loras insisting on seeing her late at night would have filled Sansa with the sweetest of hopes. Now however, having the knight of flowers at her chamber door manages to cause in Sansa only dread.

Despite her fears, Sansa quickly reaches for Shae’s wrist and gives her a pointed look that she hopes translates clearly to  _let it go._ If Sir Loras has a message for her, it is best for her to hear it sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t rare for her husband to come in late at night to wish her goodnight and keep up appearances. No good would come of Tyrion finding her in this situation.

“I’ll talk to him.” She mouths at Shae, who grudgingly steps back, just as Sansa takes her place at the door.

Through the narrow opening she can see Sir Loras, his head bowed down with a stern expression on his face.

He looks at her from up his lashes and Sansa is stricken with how beautiful he truly is. It’s sad really, technically they were engaged for a few days, yet it is as if he’d never really seen her until this moment.

“She wants to see you.”

 _Why?_  The word catches in her throat, rough as sand. Sansa wants to be angry, to demand an explanation.  _Have you all not done enough?_

In the end, fatigue and a desire for answers make the decision for her. “Do you happen to know what your grace wants, my lord?” she asks petulantly.

Oddly enough, it takes him no time at all to see through her childish ways, and his blue eyes ground her with a sad sort of sympathy.

"Your grace, is it? As far as I'm aware, my sister hasn't been crowned queen in her sleep, lady Sansa."

She feels the tips of her ears grow hot in embarrassment. "Forgive me, Sir Loras. It is long past my bedtime and I do feel quite tired. Do you know what matters lady Margaery wishes to discuss with me?" She recovers.

“She wouldn’t say, but I know my sister, and if I’m the only one she trusts with a message – I can’t imagine it not being important.” He nods his head to the right just so, and it’s such an ordinary gesture, yet so familiar - Sansa is not even exactly sure why she’s so taken with it, until she realizes she's seen it before on a different face.

“I see her in you.”  Her voice comes out low and heavy with curiosity. How could she have not noticed that before?

Loras smiles indulgently while checking the corridor for any wise lurkers. “Yes, we’ve been told of our resemblance even as little children.”

It’s more than that. Sansa catches herself nearly mumbling -  _You even move the same-_ but Loras cuts her off.

“She asks that you meet her tomorrow, two candle marks before dinner, at your place of worship.”

“And what if I don’t go?” she asks impulsively against her better judgment.

Sir Loras seems amused by her forthrightness though, he hums in agreement. “I believe she’ll wait for you - just in case.”

He steps back as if to leave, but seems to have second thoughts. “My sister had great sympathy for you, Lady Sansa. I hope you’ll be discreet about what I’m about to tell you.”  

His piercing gaze searches her face for quite some time, until he seems to find whatever he’s looking for.  

“My family - we were all quite vexed about how your marriage came about. Margaery more than anyone. We do believe in taking into consideration the opinions of both parties in such an alliance.” Loras says, after a few silent, terse moments.

There is something incredibly miserable about his expression, and if Sansa didn't know any better, she'd think he was the one being forced into an unwanted marriage.  

“I apologize if my family has offended you by neglecting your presence at court after the wedding, but we have our own interests to care for and I’m sure you of all people can understand the importance of prioritizing and pragmatism in a place like this.”

Sansa had a hard time responding to him. He seemed so honest, but so had Margaery, her cousins and the queen of thorns once and look how well that had turned out. They were all the same as before and she was a Lannister. It hardly seemed fair and although a part of her wished to delight in the knowledge that the Tyrell’s disapproved of the plot that turned her into a Lannister in the eyes of the law and the seven, a significant part of her refused to take his words at face value.

She had taken Shae’s words to heart.  _Trust no one. Life is safer that way._


	2. Trust no one

Sansa played mindlessly with the end of her fork, messing up the bits of food left in her plate. Cod fish had never been a favorite, she was used to hearty northern food, but at least she still had the luxury of eating in her own room. During her engagement to Joffrey she’d had the _honor_ of sharing his table, and more often than not, the sight of the Lannisters had been enough to kill her appetite on the spot.

She let her gaze drift to the window, where at least a dozen ships floated in Black water bay.

She would give anything to be in one of them.

Distractedly she takes notice of Shae, stepping in to take her tray back to the kitchens. Not two seconds later though, her thoughts come to a screeching halt when she hears the loud sounding crash of the tray hitting the floor.

Sansa cringes and squints at the obnoxious sounding clatter.

“You are truly the worst handmaiden I’ve ever had.” She concludes with a sigh.

Shae stops cleaning up the mess long enough to shoot her a distressed look. “Then perhaps you should trade me in for a good one.” She exclaimed, throwing a piece of fish at Sansa.

It misses her head by an inch and Sansa is appalled, yet she can’t find it in herself to feel anything but fondness for her friend.

“I wouldn’t trade you for three good ones.” She acquiesced truthfully, as Shae gathered the mess off the floor and set the silver tray back at the table.

The handmaiden points at her in accusing jest. “The only thing that tells me is that you’d trade me for four.”

Sansa shrugs noncommittally and manages to keep her face stoic for about five seconds, before she feels a treacherous grin begin to form in her lips.

Shae just rolls her eyes at her antics as she goes to sit by the window, seemingly giving up on her original task of clearing the table.

“Have you decided yet if you’ll be meeting your good friend today?” She inquired brightly, innocence personified. “I’ve always found that the best meetings were the ones arranged in suspicious ways.”

Sansa’s gaze drops to her feet under the table, as she suddenly feels herself grow dramatically less cheerful.

“There’s nothing to decide.” She mutters. “Margaery will be queen soon. Denying her invitation would be seen as an affront. I have to go” She concludes with a frown.

“No you don’t.” Shae argues lightly, as she neatly rearranges the fabric of the drapes. “If this was an official meeting, with people around - then yes, you’d have to go, but that’s not what this is, is it?” She reasoned, tipping her head in Sansa’s general direction.

“She had her brother come in late at night and discreetly ask you to meet her. I see nothing official about that.” Shae practically sang that last part.

Sansa studied her face carefully, pondering her friend’s words. She’d raised both eyebrows, in what Sansa believed to be an attempt to display substantial amounts of suspicion.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t go?” She sat up straight, feeling an uncomfortable swirl in her stomach at the thought of neglecting the invitation.

“I never said that.” Shae announced heavily, ignoring her completely. “By all means, go if you think it will help, just don’t do it out of a sense of obligation.”  Shae frowned with resolve and reassured. “There is no shame in playing things smart, Sansa…”

“I know that.” Sansa mumbled softly, shoulders slumping forward as if she could physically feel the weight of her decisions pinning her down.

Shae watched her curiously. “Do you want to meet her?” She inquired.

Sansa kept her eyes to the floor. Did she want to go? She’d believed the Tyrell’s were on her side once. That thought, albeit naïve had kept her happy for a while. She was grudgingly aware of that.

It seemed there was a lot to be said about even the illusion of support.

At last, she stands up and admits with a sigh. “I’m not sure.” She seems to be incapable of standing still and takes to pacing around the room trying to get rid of this weird anxiety.

“It could be a good thing.” She acquiesced. “Margaery was never…” She trails off, feeling frustrated with her own inability to commit to a decision.

She takes a deep breath, resenting profoundly the stench that came through the window. This city reeked and Sansa doubted she’d ever get used to it.

Meanwhile, Shae, who still sat comfortably by the window, was looking more and more intrigued by the second. “You never told me much about that. Do you trust this girl?” She intimated.

Sansa rolled her eyes hard at that. By now, her mood was so sullen, she had half a mind not to go, just so she could go to bed early and forget all of her problems for a few hours.

“I don’t trust anybody.” She mumbled, putting her back against the tall, wooden, bedpost. “But-” Sansa frowned thoughtfully. “She was kind, unfailingly so. She was everything I’ve ever wanted to be and- when we were together I was…It was easy.” She admitted morosely.

Sansa looks up towards her friend and she can practically see the thoughts rushing through her head one by one.

Shae had this funny quality, she always seemed to have ten different things going through her mind, but at any given time you’d only get to hear one of them.

What she did end up hearing was. “You could use an ally that rich, but she has deserted you before. Do you think she really cares for you?”  

Her tone of voice was indecipherable to Sansa. There was a lot of suspicion there, but also something else.

“I never gave her any reasons to dislike me.” She tried to explain. “I don’t think she would risk herself or her family over my friendship, but I do trust that she wouldn’t mind helping me, if she had something at stake or something to gain… like before.” There it was.

It wasn’t exactly an epiphany, but suddenly her perspective on the Tyrell’s became a little bit clearer. Back at Winterfell, with her parents, she’d always been taught about the value and absolute condition of character, honor and justice.

Back then, it had made perfect sense to her. There was good and there was evil. She’d never considered the existence of a middle ground before.

Sansa slid off the wooden bedpost and went to sit on the mattress. She still had a couple of hours until their meeting was supposed to take place, but the decision to go was quickly taking root in her mind. After all, if the support of the Tyrell’s could be swayed by their sympathies and how worthy of an ally they perceived her to be…she could do that. She could make them her allies again.

Clearly her friendship with Margaery hadn’t been as real as she’d thought, since it was dropped the second her marriage became official, but she could do it right this time. Her septa had sung praises of her social abilities to the sky and back. Surely that must count for something.

Her eyes turned to Shae with renewed excitement. “This could work.” She noted with conviction. “Margaery does this all the time, with the commoners, the court, even with me. She get’s the things she wants by making people care for her.”

Shae ran a thin, lightly scarred hand over her eyes. “Sounds familiar.” She admitted crossly.

Sansa watched curiously as her friend made her way to the bed and sat down right next to her. Whilst sitting down, they were nearly at eye level with each other, equals despite their many differences.

“What’s wrong, Shae? You don’t think I can convince her to help me?” She inquired sincerely.

The older woman sighed and turned to face her gruffly. “I know you can. I could even help you do that.” She admitted cheerlessly. “I’ve had plenty of experience with lying to get what I want.” She concluded sarcastically.

Sansa observed her friend carefully. Where was this coming from? Shae had grown visibly upset very quickly, but Sansa was under the impression that Shae’s aggravation was somehow misplaced. “I can’t tell what you mean.” She stared at her friend at a loss, but Shae refused to meet her gaze.

“I mean the world is filled with terrible people and everyone wants something. Lying in exchange for things is the oldest trick there is. It’s what whores do.” She muttered darkly.

“I guess so, but you’re not a whore.” Sansa smiled faintly.

Shae’s head snapped towards her as if she’d been shocked and a weird expression crossed her features before she breathed in deeply and started to laugh.

Her laughter started light and disbelieving, but soon grew hysterical. Sansa was incredibly confused, this whole conversation was bereft of humor to her, yet Shae was laughing so hard she could see real tears begin to form in her eyes. “Shae - I don’t…”

A bleak thought landed itself in her mind like a blow to the head and suddenly she understood.

Sansa didn’t say anything; she waited for a few minutes as Shae slowly started to recompose herself. Until the laughter ceased and then the tears. Once she began to wipe her eyes off, Sansa gently placed her hand on Shae’s shoulder, just as her mother used to when she was little, and with a voice full of sincerity she vouched. “That means nothing to me.”

Sansa observed how caught off guard Shae looked, once she realized Sansa had put the pieces together, and insisted. “You are my best friend. That’s all that matters to me.”

Shae gave her one quick, grateful smile before her familiar sardonic expression slid back into place. “I am your only friend.” She quipped with sarcasm.

Sansa breathed out relieved. Shae was typically the one who offered support to her; it made her uncomfortable to have their roles reversed like that, however briefly. “Do you want to talk about it?” She offered.

The handmaiden left the bed abruptly and seemed to be trying to shake that entire line of conversation off by busying herself fluffing up Sansa’s pillows.

“Don’t go meet her today.” Shae advised as she left to pour herself a cup of peach wine.

“What? Why not?” Confusion quickly set in her mind.

Shae twirled her cup in circular motions swirling the wine inside without ever spilling it. “Smiths know steel, cooks know food – someone with my experience…I know people.”

She drank deeply and then roguishly poured herself some more as she elaborated. “We don’t know how much of your friendship with this girl was real, but she hasn’t bothered to contact you since your wedding. Obviously something has changed.” She mused impassively.

“In any way, she came to you first and that gives you power to decide. Don’t go today. If nothing happens it was likely a waste of your time anyway.”

Sansa’s frown is deeply etched into her brow. The notion of blowing of Margaery’s request did not sit well with her. “What if it _is_ important? Am I just supposed to gamble with chance like that?” she challenges petulantly.

Shae rolls her eyes and struts towards Sansa confidently pointing a finger at her. “Not every rebuff is meant to discourage. Trust me, Sansa; if you don’t go to her she’ll come to you.”

Exasperated, Sansa throws her hands up and stands towering over Shae. “She already has come to me. This is her invitation, Shae. I don’t understand you at all. Am I supposed to win her over by being rude?”

Shae turns swiftly to look at Sansa and shakes her head. “No. Not rude, Sansa. _Hurt_.” She hints astutely.

Sansa stands there slack-jawed as Shae elaborates on her reasoning. “She befriended you when it suited her and left you when it didn’t. You may not hold it against her as much as you should, but she doesn’t have to know that. People invest much more in things they have to earn, Sansa. This girl is well on her way to becoming queen of the seven kingdoms, I don’t think she’s used to being denied things. Give her something to strive towards.”

Sansa bit into her lip deep in thought as she stared out the window considering the pros and cons of her situation . Eight ships left every week headed for The Reach, but she was a married woman now, as well as a well known Lannister hostage. She wouldn’t be welcome in any ships. Nobody in their right mind would risk treason for her. Yet an unconsummated marriage was a fragile thing, and being friends with a queen could go a long way. 


	3. Let them come to you

Three days had passed after Sansa decided not to go to the meeting, and no further attempts to contact her were made. Sansa would be lying if she said she didn’t have any doubts about her decision, but Shae had been resolute, and Sansa honestly trusted her advice more than her own insecurities. _Let them come to you._

The next morning found her in slightly better spirits. She broke fast with Shae, who brought her assorted fruits covered in cream and honey; and with Tyrion far away handling his own affairs it was as good a morning as she could hope for, given the circumstances.

It was already midmorning by the time she made her way to the sept. She perched herself on the very first row, as far away as she could get from the few other members of court who were present. Soon though, she became distracted from her prayers by a slight commotion of whispers only a few rows behind her.

She risked a quick glance behind and found a small sea of gold and green staring right back at her. Sansa’s head spun back towards the front, her cheeks burned. There were at least a dozen members of house Tyrell sitting behind her.  She had never seen so many of them together before _._ _They must have arrived for the royal wedding._ She concluded.

Each row of the sept could easily hold twenty people, but Lady Olenna sat with Margaery alone. They sat apart of their entire family, but only two rows behind Sansa, and she could literally feel the gooseflesh at the back of her neck where she _knew_ they were watching her.

Sansa breathed in slowly and steadied herself.   _Let them come to you._

After a few short minutes pretending to finish up her prayers, Sansa made her way towards the exit. She could hear footsteps approaching her and it still didn’t stop her from flinching when Lady Olenna spoke.

“Now, child – Did your mother never teach you it’s improper to force your elders to chase after you like a dog?”

Sansa’s blood ran cold and her feet locked on the spot. She had to remind herself of what Shae had said. _Trust no one. Let them come to you._

“It was not my wish to cause you any discomfort, Lady Olenna.” She locked eyes with the Queen of Thorns, and pointedly ignored the way her hands shook beneath the long sleeves of her dress.

“No? Funny you should say so- It is my understanding you have made a point of inconveniencing all sorts of Tyrells this week.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Lady Olenna. How could I possibly inconvenience people I have no contact with?” The words tumbled out of her instinctively, and earned her an unexpected smile from the Queen of Thorns. From the corner of her eyes she could see Margaery watching them from a distance.

“I see marriage has done its work in sharpening you tongue, child. Nothing will beat a soft disposition into shape like marriage. I always said so.” The old lady offered her arm to Sansa. Her bony fingers were deadly cold. “My granddaughter and I have a new invitation for you, child. This one you would do well not to ignore.”  

Her tone left no room for interpretation. This wasn’t an invitation, Sansa was being intimated. “When?”

The queen of thorns stopped directly in front of an altar; Sansa fought back a shiver as she watched her discreetly drop a few coins in the offerings basket. _A tribute for the Stranger._ She realized.

“You’ll be feasting with my granddaughter. Tonight.”

That would be tricky. Shae had advised her in no uncertain terms to keep Margaery at bay, at least for a while. She seemed to be under the impression that the youngest Tyrell, for all the graces she possessed, was still as spoiled as any child born to a great house. _Show her something she can’t have – she’ll want it even more. Make sure she knows you don’t trust her, and she’ll work ten times harder to win back your favor._

It was all a gamble, of course. If Margaery didn’t care the slightest bit for her, it could all fall to pieces, but in her heart of hearts she felt that was not the case.

“I’ll be there.”

_\------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Margaery’s quarters were, unsurprisingly, beautiful.

Clearly accommodations had been made to ensure that the _Queen to be_ was as comfortable as she could possibly be. There was a gorgeous bathing tub seemingly made out of bronze close to the eastern wall, a soft turmeric colored rug covered most of the floor, there were azalea scented candles _everywhere,_ and the canopy for the bed –the largest one Sansa had ever seen- was a dream of blue silk.

Sansa looked at all of it, at everything really, except at Margaery.

Her once friend had dispensed her servants for the night, claiming that sometimes having so many of them around was more energy consuming than useful to her. A sentiment Sansa could relate to wholeheartedly. Not that she’d give her host the satisfaction of saying so out loud. 

Margaery waited and waited, but Sansa would simply not look. _Shae would have been proud of me._ She thought _._ In truth, she would like to say she took no pleasure in the obvious aggravation her neglect inspired in Margaery, but that would simply not be true. _Perhaps I was more disappointed in her than I thought…_

Eventually, they sat at the smallest of the tables and Margaery, in an unusual display took on the serving duties herself. Sansa just watched - mystified as Margaery attentively filled both of their plates through each course with tiny portions of at least a dozen different dishes.

Conversation between them was uncomfortably lacking. Margaery tried her best, but not even the most innocuous subjects enticed Sansa to speaking. Truthfully, it reminded her of dinning with the Queen and her children, but if Margaery noticed this she pretended not to. The only things that seemed to concern her -were if Sansa was pleased with her food, if she enjoyed her wine or needed an extra cushion for her seat. Simple questions, and all of which could be answered with the slightest nod of her head.

Thus far, Sansa had kept a detached mask of politeness, and as predicted by Shae, Margaery wore her frustration very ill at ease. _She wondered what would happen if…_

“Thank you.”

It had slipped off her tongue by accident nearly, but the effect it had on Margaery was immediate. Her hand stilled mid air as she reached for her cup, and even from the corner of her sight, Sansa saw her visibly straightening up in her chair.

“Whatever you are thanking me for - _don’t_.”  

Her tone was frighteningly delicate, as if she were speaking to an animal that was very easily spooked. Sansa supposed in a way she was. She could practically feel the weight of Margaery’s gaze on her, _curious, hopeful… tentative._

“Will you look at me?”

“No.” She didn’t quite know where she wanted this to go, but the gentle, borderline childlike tone in Margaery’s voice, tugged at a strange part of her. It felt cruel.

“Please?”

Sansa had the unsettling desire to laugh.

“No.” She said it softly this time. _Not every rebuff in meant to discourage._

“Why?”

Gods… her voice. She sounded _grief struck_.

“I don’t want to.” A lie. She did want to. She wanted to see the pretty frown on her brow and the gentle purse of her lips. _Are you lost, Margaery? Are you scared? I was. I am._

Sansa stared markedly at the table, looking between the dishes and crumbles. _She planed this._ Sansa realized startled.  Her mind cataloging everything her eyes could see, but hadn’t noticed before.

Over twelve courses served by Margaery’s own hand. _She served me_. All things she’d seen her enjoy before and not a single one of the delicacies Sansa had ever mentioned not being fond of. _I don’t like spicy. I told her that._ A particularly large portion of lemon flavored desert sat half eaten in her plate. _Well, that was obvious._

They’d dinned alone, and drank honeywine throughout the meal. It was imported from the north; light and sweet, and not nearly as expensive as the wines produced in Dorne or the Arbor. She was sure of it. Everything was chosen specifically for her sake.

She felt the guilt sink in then, for first time. _It’s not her I want to see hurt._

She swallowed dry at the realization. _It’s time_. She thought. And so it was, not even Shae would have disagreed.

Her hand reached for her cup and she drank deeply. _How did she not see this before? This entire feast is an apology._

 _“_ Margaery?” She breathed in slowly, and then she looked.

_She should not have looked._

The girl looked radiant in her blue gown, with her long hair loose about her shoulders. She looked a maid as fair as any Sansa had ever read or sung about, but her eyes -

“I thought you didn’t want to look at me.” Margaery was the one to avert her gaze then. It wasn’t enough. She had to shift her entire body away from Sansa.

“You’re crying.” Sansa was stunned motionless. _How long had she been crying for?_

“Why are you crying?” Her voice came out hushed and slightly panicked.

Margaery’s own voice broke as she wiped the tears off her cheeks with flustered, angry motions.

“I don’t _know_ why I’m crying. Gods, this is ridiculous.” She mumbled to herself.

Sansa had never seen her like this, never even dreamed of it really. She had tear stained puffy cheeks, slightly red eyes, and a stubborn frown on her face that reminded Sansa of the worst of Rickon’s temper tantrums.  She looked for all intents and purposes -embarrassed, and for the life of her, Sansa did not know what to do with that.

“Do you want me to leave you?”

“No. You can’t.” Margaery reached instinctively for her. She held on to the sleeve of Sansa’s dress for a second, then took one look at Sansa and recoiled back.

“I’m sorry. We’re not friends, I know that.”

The statement did not ring true to Sansa’s ears, but she deliberately chose not to comment on it.

“What do you mean I can’t go?”

Margaery breathed deeply in and out, seemingly trying to collect herself. “I have to talk to you. I’m supposed – my grandmother asked me to.” She acknowledged.

Sansa caught her eyes and tried to read the truth in them. _She looks as confused as I feel._ She reached for the wine, poured some into her own cup, and meekly handed it to Margaery. A northern tradition.   _A peace offering._

“Then… talk to me.” She said at last.

Margaery stared at her, blue eyes traced over her features with such intensity Sansa was afraid to move. It felt oddly intimate. _Is this what she’s really like when she’s not posturing?_

Margaery accepted the cup. She looked at it oddly for a while, as if some great conflict existed within that cup. She looked so distressed. They had not spoken to each other in over two months, but clearly something had transpired and it had taken a toll on Margaery.

“You did warn me.”  

Then -when Sansa began to wonder if she would actually refuse it, Margaery turned the cup around towards the exact spot Sansa had been drinking from, and downed the entire thing in a single breath.

“Something has happened, with Joffrey. There’s been a change of plans.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is something I've had on my computer for a while now. I'm very excited to be working on something else at the moment, so fair warning, this story remains very much on hiatus. It'll be completed eventually, but I have no date set for it. Thank you so much to all of you who've read and left kudos/comments.


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